It’s a Terrier, not a Dogue de Bordeaux

Nell: If that’s an angry terrier called Russell at the door, tell it to go away.

Me: Why?

Nell: It’s trying to sue David for damages.

Me: Gosh. What did Dave do?

Nell: It’s that wretched column. The Afghan went and pushed it off the fence.

Me: Oh no. It’s got a black eye, Nell.

Nell: Let me see. That’s not a black eye. That’s just its colouring. It’s a terrier. Good grief.

Me: What about the walking stick?

Nell: Just for show.

Me: We can’t leave it on the doorstep. Shall I get Dave?

Nell: No. On reflection, Poppy is probably the best one to deal with this.

Me: I thought you didn’t condone violence.

Nell: I don’t.

Me: Poking it with her sword is only going to make matters worse.

Nell: I’m talking about scones, not swords. Terriers are partial to a good scone. Everyone knows that.

Me: I didn’t.

Nell: Poppy can settle it down in front of the fire with a nice cup of tea and a scone.

Me: And they can have a good old chinwag.

Nell: What are you talking about? It’s a terrier, not a Dogue de Bordeaux.

Me: It’s just a saying.

Nell: Anyway, once it is comfortable, we can go and get David and The Cat.

Me: I don’t know if that’s a good idea, Nell.

Nell: The Cat needs to explain itself.

Me: This has disaster written all over it. The Cat never explains itself.

Nell: It has to. We can’t have law suits going on.

Me: In the meantime the terrier is still outside.

Nell: Stop chatting and go and get Poppy, while I ask Kev to build up the fire.

Me: Do you think Gladys should do a contemporary dance?

Nell: I shall ignore that.

Me: Yes. Sorry.

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